


Brewing

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, But same sort of canon from there, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21521326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: What if Jack and Gibbs had met in a different way? Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 51
Kudos: 158





	Brewing

**Author's Note:**

> Was thinking about the Coffee Shop Trope and thought this would be interesting. I tried to keep a lot of the parallels of their first meeting ('Cowboy' and her sugar!) but present it in a different way. Hope you like it!

The coffee shop was busy for a Monday and he blamed the exam week for filling the place up at 8 in the morning. Students, harried and half asleep, poured over their study notes and their half-fat soy mocha espresso thing they were trying to pass off as a hot drink. He wouldn’t normally find himself sticking around once he picked up his coffee, but even he’d finally gotten tired of seeing the orange walls of the office, having put in 2 weeks of overtime to not be any closer to finding the suspect. And, to his surprise, in the short time he’d been there, he found he enjoyed the white noise, even if he did have to give more than one sleepy student the steely gaze when they tried to take up the empty seat across from him. He had just gotten back into the case file when a disruption in line caught his attention.

“No, really,” a woman said, with a smile Gibbs recognized as distress. “You don’t need to buy me a coffee. Got it covered.” She held up her debit card in the hopes of discouraging the young man behind her who seemed to only take her gentle rebuff as encouragement to try harder.

“C’mon,” the kid young enough to be her son said, leering over her dress. “You can help me with my biology.” He turned to his friend and they both laughed at his pick up line.

‘Biology, huh?” she asked. “I can definitely help you with that. Let’s start with, if you don’t stop bothering me, you’ll find it hard to reproduce without the use of your balls.”

His friend laughed again, but this time, at the kid instead of with him. Gibbs smirked but watched intently for the next move. The student didn’t take too kindly to being shown up in front of his friend and the small group of people who had started to watch with interest. He reached out to grab the woman’s debit card from her hand, and if hitting on the woman wasn’t his first mistake, touching her definitely was. With a quick flick of her wrist, she grabbed his thumb and jerked it back until the flexor couldn’t hold any longer and he went down on one knee to relieve the angle.

“Touch me again and your balls will be the least of your concerns. Understand?”

“Yeah! Yeah, Jesus.” When she let go, he grabbed his hand and muttered something under his breath that brought the storm back to her face.

“Sara!” Gibbs called out as he got to his feet. Approaching the woman, he hoped she’d play along with the ruse before things got out of hand. “Sorry I missed ya. Place is crazy.” 

She looked away from the student and right into his eyes. He’d never felt so quickly drawn, quartered and categorized.

“Hey!” she greeted back, and he was relieved she caught on. “Yeah. Crazy.” Her stare briefly went to her harasser, as did Gibbs’, and the student suddenly found his shoes the most interesting thing in the room.

Gibbs gestured to his table in the corner. “Why don’t you sit; I’ll bring your coffee. Black?”

"You remembered.”

He thanked the coffee gods she didn’t want some fru-fru drink he wouldn’t be able to get right. “Go sit. I’ll get it.” He glanced at the kid behind him who was still rubbing his thumb. “Unless anyone has objections?” Met with silence, Gibbs nodded. “Figured as much.”

He watched her walk away and he tried not to stare, knowing it wouldn’t make him any better than the guy behind him, but damn, she made it hard. Seeing her out of the context of the disruption, he was able to gauge her the way she had done to him. And while he generally tried to keep his misogynistic thoughts to himself, those thoughts were currently conspiring to create images of what her white dress might look like on his wooden floor. The fabric clung to her hamstrings and it only drew his eyes down to the black heels that made the curl in her calves. His gaze was just beginning to work its way up again when he heard the barista cough loudly.

“Sir?”

When he ordered the same thing twice in less than 20 minutes, the server cocked an eyebrow. 

“One of those days, huh?”

It took him a moment to understand the reference, but when he did, he didn’t bother correcting the girl. 

“Yeah,” he replied, handing over some bills. “But I think it’s about to get better.”

…..

For him, 'getting better' meant sitting across a beautiful woman while he pored over a case, and he wondered what he had done to deserve both those things. The fact she was already engrossed in a file of her own and didn't appear the chatty type was only icing on the cake. He considered tempting fate and wishing for a whiskey to complete the perfect image, but thought better of it. He gently set down the coffee before taking his seat.

"You really take it black?"

She peered through her black-rimmed glasses and smiled. Holding up 2 white packets, she said, "Just sugar," and proceeded to pour them into the dark drink. Then tore the corner of 2 more. And then 2 more. She didn't seem to hear his bemused snort. "You look like the kind of guy who'd get offended if I asked you what I owed you." His slow blink and silence answered for him. "Thought as much. But I will say 'thank you', both for the drink and what you did back there."

He started ruffling through his papers. "Didn't hafta do much; you look like you can take care of yourself."

She hummed her agreement. "Still, it's nice to know someone's got your back, you know?"

He echoed her hum then turned his attention to his work. Taking her cue, she also returned her attention to whatever she was reading.

…..

He had surreptitiously glanced up once or twice (definitely more than once) under the guise of giving his eyes a break. He had forgotten his glasses again, and the words were starting to blur. But the reality was, he enjoyed looking at her. His habit of categorizing people in an investigative way- 5'5, blonde hair, brown/hazel eyes -didn't do her justice, didn't take into account the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes, didn't factor in the line of concentration that divided her brows when she found something interesting in whatever it was she was reading. She made notes in the margins with elegant fingers and a silver pen that she quietly tapped against the file when she wasn't writing. Reaching with her left, he watched as she lifted his cup to her lips, unaware of the error. Rather than stop her (that should've been his first clue she intrigued him; he let her mess with his coffee), he waited, curious and amused. The lid met her lips and it was a done deal as she tipped her head back slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her throat. Her eyes widened as the flavour hit her taste buds and he couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Wow," she said. "That's, uh, that's something." She placed the cup down in front of him. "I'll buy you a new one."

"Why?" He curled his fingers around the coffee and took a drink. "Tastes the same."

"Yeah, I guess that battery acid would kill any germs."

He grinned and was just about to get back to his file when she flicked out her wrist, revealing a watch that didn't quite go with the elegance of everything else about her.

"Oh! Gotta go."

As she began collecting her things, he asked, "Military?" Normally he wouldn't have bothered with more after buying the coffee, but the woman, like the watch, had caught his attention.

Her eyes widened in slight surprise. "Yes. Well, used to be. Another life." There was a wistfulness, yet a quiet pain behind the reply. "Anyway." Her eyes narrowed at him, almost as if she was reviewing the profile she had created of him when they first met. “You?”

“Yep,” he replied in the same wistful tone. “Another life.”

She surprised him by sticking out her hand. “Jacqueline Sloane. My friends call me ‘Jack’.”

The handshake was firm and dry and the confidence caught him slight off-guard, as did the choice in names. He knew protocol should win out and he should go with the first option, but he so wanted to go with the second. She took his silence as him not wanting to offer his name in return. With pressed lips holding back a smile, she nodded and hummed.

“I see. Kinda ‘Man With No Name’ thing you got going on. I get it.” She looked down and waited for him to let go of her hand. “Well, Cowboy, I gotta run. Thanks again for the coffee.”

And as quickly as she swept into his life, she was gone.

…..

He hadn’t given her a second thought ( _When did you start lyin’ to yourself, Gunny?_ ) until she walked into the coffee shop the next morning. With his back to the wall, he was able to see everyone who came in, though it was a prickle on the back of his neck that alerted him to her presence. Something changed in the air when she walked in, and he allowed his eyes the luxury of following her from the door to the counter. The shop was just as busy as the day before, so he was given plenty of time to look. She was wearing a grey pencil skirt with black boots that came up to her knees and nearly brought him to his. Her hair was pushed back by her glasses, giving a better view of the smile she bestowed on the barista. He got his head down just as she turned, her eyes scanning the room for a seat. With his foot, he pushed out the one empty chair in the place and he could almost feel her smile. 

“Morning, Cowboy.”

He didn’t look up. “Jacqueline.”

She draped her coat over the back of the chair, pausing at his address. “Oh, I think you’d call me ‘Jack’.”

The playful tone lured his eyes up. “Yeah?”

“Definitely.” She slid gracefully into her seat and began her sugar ritual while glancing over his file. “Are you some kind of cop?”

His eyes followed hers. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Cold case?” His head cocked to the side. “You were looking over that yesterday. You just look like the kind of guy who would wrap up whatever case he was working on.”

Her compliment tugged at the corner of his mouth. “There’s always one.”

She nodded in understanding. “Well, if you need any help, I’ve got a good set of eyes.” Not expecting a reply, she took an appreciative sip of her coffee, slipped her glasses down and opened her own file.

…..

There was something in the picture he couldn't put a name to, couldn't find the thing that gnawed at his gut. He fought the squint long enough for his brain to head slap him for his stubbornness. Reluctantly, he reached out for the glasses near his coffee.

And as soon as they were on his face, he realized they weren't his. If he thought he could put them back without getting caught, that was quickly banished by her bemused smirk. At some point, she must've taken them off without him noticing, and his lapse in attention might have normally irked him, but he couldn't help but grin in return.

"They look good on you," she quipped. After a beat, she said, "Tell your wife to get you one of those little chains to wear around your neck. Keeps your glasses handy." He didn't reply, recognizing the fishing expedition for what it was. Unphased by his silent counter move, she amended her statement. "You're not married."

"No?"

"No." Boldly, she reached over and tapped his wedding finger.

"Don't wear it to work. Too dangerous."

She pretended to ponder his excuse, then dismantled it. "No ring line. And you're definitely not the kind of man to not honour tradition."

"No," he said, this time with an appreciation of her ability to read him.

Jack dipped her head at his silent approval. "Besides," she continued, even lighter than before, "no woman would let you out of the house." His eyebrow arched in time with her deliberate pause. "In that suit jacket."

He was rarely caught off-balance by anyone, let alone a woman he barely knew, but her knack for going from serious to silly in the blink of an eye had him swaying every which way but up. 

Indignant but dry, he asked, "What's wrong with my jacket?" 

"JC Penney?"

He checked the label inside his lapel. "Yeah?"

"Clearance rack?"

His face must've been one of pure astonishment, because she tilted her head back and laughed, and he didn't even care that it came at his expense. Still, he pretended to be slighted by grabbing his things and standing. Her laugh immediately stopped and she reached out, her fingers tugging at his cuff.

"I didn't really offend you, did I?" Her question was slightly worried and all apologetic. "I've been told once or ten times that my mouth would get me in trouble."

His chuckle escaped unbidden. "No doubt. But no, just gotta go to work." 

The time reference made her look at her watch. "Oh! Guess I should let you get to it." 

He convinced himself that wasn't disappointment in her voice, but not entirely, because he felt compelled to offer, “See ya tomorrow.” It was meant as a statement, but his eyes made it a question.

Pleased at the veiled invitation, she nodded. “See you tomorrow.” As he walked away, she watched him leave and called out, “The pants, too?”

His step faltered ever so slightly, but he kept going without looking back.

…..

“You know,” she said as she put down her things and sat, “I’ve been purposely showing up earlier and earlier just to see if I can beat you here. When the hell do you get up, Cowboy?”

Poring over his notes, _again_ , he replied, “0600. Diner for breakfast at 0700. Coffee at 0800.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk all military,” she cooed. With a sigh and a yawn, she said, “I wish I could get up that early. By the time I put all this together,” she circled a finger around her face, “I’m out the door, half asleep.”

“Never understood why beautiful women think they need to spend time lookin’ more beautiful.”

When she didn't reply, he glanced up and was rewarded with a pink blush he wondered how he could draw out again.

"Wow. I may have been wrong- you must be married with a tongue like that."

He wasn't going to have to work hard on bringing out the blush if she was going to keep talking before her brain put on the brakes. She briefly closed her eyes in silent self-admonishment. Deciding to let her off the hook, he assured, "Nope. Divorced 3 times."

Her eyebrows rose and she let him know she recognized this as his personal information by saying, "I'm sure it was all their fault."

"Yep." And just like that, her blush turned into a laugh.

As she began her sugar ritual, she peeked over his folder. "How long does it take you to close a case? You've been working on that one since Monday." When the words hit her ears, she quickly backtracked. "I didn't mean to… I mean, it was more out of curiosity and less of an accusation. No accusation. What's got you so interested in that one particular picture?"

He wondered how often she got flustered, and took some time to appreciate bearing witness before answering honesty. "Somethin' about it; somethin's off and I can't put my finger on it."

"Try looking at it upside down." She didn't bother waiting for his look to say, "You've been looking at it for 3 days. At least." His face spoke volumes in its lack of expression. "Again, observation, not accusation." To his mild surprise, she pulled her chair around to his side, took the photo from his hand, turned it upside down, and placed it back between his thumb and forefinger. He found he suddenly had a hard time breathing, even when all he wanted to do was breathe her in. The way she leaned into his side brought her close enough that her hair tickled his cheek and he knew if he turned his head, his lips would brush across her temple. The struggle to not do that very thing took him by surprise. She took his utter stillness as a reason to reach for her glasses and carefully put them on his face. “There,” she announced proudly. “You look great. Now, look here.” She tapped the photo. He drew in enough air to grumble at her sass, but did what he was told. “What do you see now?”

Setting aside his personal thoughts, he shifted into professional mode at the question. It was a simple photo from the crime scene; the body had been removed but the tragedy remained. A large blood spot, an overturned table, a broken lamp. Magazines strewn across the floor, broken glass. The remains of what could only have been a struggle, one that resulted in the death of a young woman.

“This doesn’t bother you?” he asked, realizing the picture wasn’t exactly a happy one.

“Oh, believe me, I’ve seen worse,” she said. 

He did a double-take at her assurance, but returned to the photo. It only took him a second to see it. “What’s that right there? Are those earrings?”

When she squinted forward, he slid his left arm along the back of her chair, took her glasses off his face and held them up to her eyes. Her fingers curled around his right wrist to bring them closer and she peered through the lenses. Her touch was soft yet firm, her fingers having the texture of someone familiar with guns. He knew it well, but he realized he didn’t know _her_. Barely at all. He wondered what branch of the military she served in, how long had it been, what was in her shampoo that was driving him crazy?

Oblivious to his private conversation, she corrected him. “Rosary beads,” she said of the 4 loose baubles that were strewn almost out of frame. “That’s a clasp to keep the beads together.” She pointed in the corner. “It’s the rosary of Saint Philomena, Patron Saint of Children.” When she turned her head, she was caught under his gaze. “Your eyes are very, very blue,” she blurted out, then collected herself. “But those beads are white and red. Synonymous with the Saint Philomena rosary.”

Her knowledge of the rosary only added to the list of things he didn’t know about her. She turned her head again, and this time, their gazes held longer. They were so close he could smell the sugared coffee on her lips, see the toffee flecks in her eyes. The squeeze on his wrist distracted his eyes, which broke the spell. She let go (too quickly for his liking) and coughed to cover her embarrassment. 

"Does that help?" 

It took him a moment to connect her question to the case. Pairing the information she gave him with what he already knew, he nodded with a not small amount of amazement. 

"Yeah. I think it does."

Her eyes widened in delight, as did her smile. Bunching a fistful of his jacket in her hand, she pulled back and forth and let out a victorious, "Yes!" that he found infectious. She raised her hand for a high five which he flatly refused, though she seemed to expect it, because she gave a small shrug and said, "Had to try." Her phone chirped and she frowned. “Sorry.” He couldn’t tell whether the text was good or bad based on her expression, and the speed in which she replied didn’t reveal anything either. But her standing up did. “I have to go.” Her small pout lifted his mood. Whoever it was that could request her attention before 9am might have been important, but he wasn’t so important she was eager to leave. 

_Funny how you assumed it was a ‘he’, Marine. Like you’re reconning for enemy snipers._

Still, ~~he~~ they were important enough that she smoothed down her skirt and asked, “How do I look?”

 _Like he’s not good enough for you._ “Nice. Ya look nice.”

A small line formed between her brows. “You went from ‘beautiful’ to ‘nice’.” Her hand self-consciously came up to her hair.

“Ya look beautiful.”

“Mmmm. I’ll pretend that doesn’t sound like I had to pull it out of you.” She slipped on her coat and grabbed her bag. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Cowboy.”

No matter what happened, he was sure he wouldn’t enjoy it as much as he did the morning.

…..

When he wasn’t working, he was a creature of habit, either due to his military training or his nature or both. The schedule he had given her the day earlier was his schedule most every day. He liked order and he liked routine. So when 8 o’clock came and went and she didn’t show up, it felt like a pebble in his shoe. By the time 8:30 had rolled around, he had looked up at the door so many times, he was giving himself a headache. 

_Shoulda brought your own glasses, Gunny._

He glowered at himself for his self-taunting. He had planned on telling her he’d arrested someone in the case that had taken over his life for the past 2 weeks, had caught himself smiling at the image of her joy at the news. 8:45. His coffee had gone cold and bitter and he swallowed every last drop.

…..

“Hey, Cowboy!” She was halfway into her seat when she slowed her descent. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong? That lead didn’t pan out?”

How could he tell her his agitation stemmed from not seeing her the day before, when he had a hard enough time admitting the foolishness to himself? “Just not sleepin’, I guess.” It wasn’t a lie; he’d barely slept a wink while he debated the ethics of using government resources to do a background check on her.

Her face was full of feeling and her hand was cool on his as she reached across the table. “You’ll get him. Or her.”

“Him,” he said. “Got him yesterday afternoon. He was the pastor at the victim’s church.”

“That’s great! I mean, not great that he killed someone, but it’s got to be a good feeling to finally catch him.” She scrutinized him again. “Or not?”

He knew he was being ridiculous. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s great. Got to give the family some closure.” 

“That’s always good, for everyone.” Seemingly satisfied at the improvement in his demeanour, she tore the corners of her first 2 sugar packs. “Sorry I didn’t make it yesterday. Finally got to pick up the keys to my apartment.” She shook her head at the lack of context to her words. “Just moved from California and I’ve been looking for an apartment for weeks. Been living in a hotel.” The way her nose wrinkled told him everything she thought about the situation. And besides her name, it was the first piece of personal information she had given him. “I start my job on Monday.”

He mentally corrected himself- two pieces of personal information. Since she was on a roll, he asked, “What kinda job?”

“Criminal psychologist. For NCIS.” She pointed to the large grey building across the street as she tore 2 more packs. “Naval Criminal Investigative Services,” she helpfully added.

He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. _This is what background checks are for._ “Oh, really?” he asked, giving away nothing. “Sounds interesting.”

“I think so,” she replied, clearly excited about the prospect. “I’ve been told I’ll be working with some really great people, really good work environment. Been warned about a co-worker or two, but that’s to be expected.”

He nodded. “As long as ya know ahead of time, you can be ready. This co-worker got a name?”

“Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” she said. “What a mouthful, huh?” His mouth twitched at her grin. “Real hard ass. But I pride myself in being able to work with anyone. He’ll be a welcome challenge instead of an unwanted obstacle.” 

He watched her tap her cup with the stir stick as a kind of cheerful punctuation. “I have no doubt.”

“Got a busy weekend before all that, though. Don’t suppose you know anyone with a truck?” She winked at his laugh. “Of course you have a truck. Let me guess- early 80s Chevy with, oh, about 60,000 miles on the gauge?” 

He could only laugh. “‘82 c10. 63 thousand miles. Whattaya need a truck for?”

“I was just teasing. I’m getting everything shipped. Just a little daunted by it all, I suppose. How about you?” Her eyes took in the distinct lack of files or photographs. “You’re all done?”

“Never seem to be, no. But I told my team to take the day off. It’s been a long coupla weeks.”

The unintended slip left his mouth before he could stop it, and if he thought she’d miss it, he was badly mistaken.

“So you’re not working today? But you still came here. That’s sweet.” Her voice held nothing but sincerity. He tried to brush it off with a nonchalant shrug but she was having none of it. “Thanks, Cowboy.” Daringly, she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand before she seemed to come to her senses. And yet, she couldn’t help but ask, “So what are we going to do with the rest of the day? I saw a really nice suit shop in Georgetown, if you’re interested.” Her deadpan expression lasted all of 6 seconds before she burst out laughing. “You should see your face!” He covered it up by taking a drink. “Luckily for you, you’re off the hook. I’ve got a lot to do before Monday rolls around.” The mention of the day triggered a thought. “You’ll be here Monday, right?” Now it was her turn to try the nonchalant shrug. “I mean, is this going to be a regular thing or…?”

“I’ll be here Monday.”

His words replaced her poorly veiled concern with a smile. “Great! I guess I’ll see you then.”

“I guess you will. Dr. Sloane.”

He wasn’t sure how her smile could get any wider.

…..

“Don’t be nervous, Sloane.”

She had been fiddling with her sugar packets for the last 5 minutes, the steam from her coffee waning. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’m good at my job. I work well with others. I come highly recommended. I mean, I’m friends with the Director, but that’s not how I got the job. You don’t think people with think that’s how I got the job, do you?” 

Rather than answering, he took the small white packets from her fidgeting fingers, tore the corners and dumped them in. Then repeated the process two more times before stirring the concoction and handing her the cup. 

“Drink this before it gets cold. And before you give me an aneurysm.” When the sugar hit her system, he nodded. “Better?”

“Yeah,” she replied, but took another gulp just to be sure. “I can do this. I served in Afghanistan for God’s sake. I think I can handle one little job in a completely new city with people I’ve never met.” 

The ramble might have made him smirk had it been anyone else, but the alarm in her eyes brought out his protective nature. “You’ve got this, Jack.”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that.” It seemed to settle her because her smile was back. Checking her watch, she sighed. “I guess I should go. Make a good impression by showing up early.”

There was something in her eyes that made him ask, “What?”

Her smile faltered ever-so-slightly. “I don’t know.” She tapped the table. “That’s not true. I do know. I was going to say… I was looking forward to telling you how my day went.”

“You will. Tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” 

He pretended not to hear the disappointment in her voice and stood with her. “Let me go with ya. Might as well get to work early, too.”

She took the coffee he held out for her. “Okay.” 

It wasn’t until they were at the NCIS doors that she realized he was going in with her. 

“You going to walk me to my floor?” she joked.

“Nope.”

With that cryptic answer, they walked through security, where the guard recognized him and waved him through. Jack flashed her temporary badge and followed behind. They stood at the elevator where she tried to glean a clue from him, but he only stared ahead, watching the numbers light up. When they stepped in, she pushed her floor number and he did the same, and the second the doors closed, she tipped back against the wall. 

“You’re Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”

“Yep.”

Closing her eyes, her laughter filled the car. “Wow. Did _not_ see that coming. Well played.”

“I didn’t play ya, Jack.”

“No,” she said, quick to correct her insinuation. “No, you never did. You didn’t do a background check on me, did you?” It was a confident question.

“That would be a misappropriation of government resources, Jack.”

His dry reference to company policy brought the smile it intended. 

“So, are we still on for coffee in the morning?” This time, the question wasn’t so confident.

“Sure,” he replied, “if ya wanna wait that long.” The elevator chimed his stop just as she tilted her head in confusion. He stepped out and turned. “Figured you’d wanna tell me all about your day. Unless somethin’ comes up, I’m done at 5.” He took advantage of her surprise by reaching in and pressing the button for her floor. “Welcome to NCIS, Dr. Sloane.”

The doors had just begun to close when she blurted, "That's Special Agent Sloane!”

…..

-end


End file.
